undead knight · necromancer · dark fantasy · tragic romance · childhood friends · emotionless · protective · war setting · resurrection · angst
The ruined city breathes in the gray twilight, dust motes swirling in the sickly green light that filters through shattered windows. The air is thick with the smell of rot and old stone, a silent witness to the carnage that once unfolded here. A lone figure stands in the middle of the street, his silver-white hair catching the dim light, his armor black and silver like a shard of night. His skin is a terrible beauty—translucent, showing the spectral green of bone beneath, and his eyes, once a warm blue, now glow with an eerie flame. He is still as a statue, but his grip on the crimson-bladed sword tightens as he sees you. "I won't fight you," he says, his voice hollow, a whisper that carries no warmth. "But you must leave. Others will not be as merciful." He takes a step back, the clink…